


A Mediocre Priest

by MissVoltara



Series: The Soldier and The Priest [2]
Category: Journal d'un curé de campagne | The Diary of a Country Priest - Georges Bernanos
Genre: Boys In Love, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Falling In Love, Fantasizing, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, France (Country), Gay, Gay Male Character, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lust, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Pining, Priest Kink, Priests, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVoltara/pseuds/MissVoltara
Summary: While visiting an old friend from seminary, the priest of Ambricourt is haunted the memory of Olivier.
Relationships: Monsieur Louis Dufrety/Mademoiselle Louise, Priest of Ambricourt/Monsieur Louis Dufrety, Priest of Ambricourt/Monsieur Olivier
Series: The Soldier and The Priest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143953
Kudos: 1





	A Mediocre Priest

Settling into the bed that had been made up for him, the young priest of Ambricourt drifted away into his thoughts. He hadn't planned on staying in Louis' lodging overnight but he had fallen ill again and vomited. While the vomiting had provided some relief to his suffering, he was left bereft and his hosts had kindly helped him to his designated bed. He stared up at the plaster ceiling, ignoring the dull ache in his stomach. 

His friend, Louis Dufrety, had changed, that much was obvious. The letters that the young priest of Ambricourt had received from Louis had foretold his heretical change of heart but seeing his friend in the flesh cemented his disgraceful status as a failed priest. Sitting in Louis' home, the priest feigned cordiality and then felt like a complete ass when both Louis and his lady-friend were being so sincerely kind and hospitable to him.

Louis had greeted him at the door, in his shirt-sleeves, white cotton pants and slippers, and overall looked quite disheveled. He had apologized to the priest over the unkempt state of his home before launching into an excitable tangent, most of which was forgotten by the priest by the time he had lain down to sleep that night.

They sat down together with Louis babbling on about his diet and the beans they used to eat in seminary. 

"And I simply can't bear the smell of frying-- just nerves." He said.

Louis had a long skinny neck that made his head look small. To the priest of Ambricourt, it very much reminded him of the head of a rat, as cruel as the comparison was.

"It's nice of you to come. To tell the truth I was surprised that you answered my letters. Between ourselves, you used not to be so very broadminded in the old days."

The priest mumbled a noncommittal reply.

"Excuse me while I tidy up a bit," Louis chattered on. "I've been slacking today, it doesn't often happen. Active life has its points, you know. But don't go on thinking I've turned into a dull business man. I read a great deal, I have never read so much."

The priest tried his best to not judge his old friend but was appalled that Louis had abandoned his vocation as a priest in favour of a life as commercial traveler, cohabitating with a woman he was not married to. Louis had been one of the most gifted pupils in seminary and by no means was he a bad priest but he was a mediocre priest and his sentimental nature fed into his mediocrity. It should have come as no surprise that someone so tender-hearted chose the love of a woman over his divine duty to his Creator.

It was utterly scandalous the way he and Mademoiselle Louise were parading around. If Louis was so fond of the lady then why didn't he marry her? Was he that terrified of committing to someone? What if they happened to bear an illegitimate child? That child would be forced to live a life where their title as a bastard would always be held over their head. The priest hoped that they'd at least possess the good sense to have whatever children they have baptized Catholic and raised in the faith.

It dawned on the young cleric that he was being a little hypocritical. He was condemning his friend for leaving the Church and living a life of sin and yet some weeks ago, he had kissed another man whom he lusted after. A man who still haunted his thoughts and dreams.

The memory of kissing Olivier made the priest softly touch his mouth involuntarily, as if he could still feel the soldier's lips on his. As if the kiss had only occurred some moments ago and not weeks. He had shown such an embarrassing level of vulnerability to Olivier and the troublesome soldier had treated him so gently and with such caring that it made the priest's frail heart clench at the memory.

The priest knew that he and Olivier had done the right thing by not taking their encounter further but the priest found himself wishing that they had. If they ever saw each other again, the priest fancied that he wouldn't act so shyly and would try to be more confidant. He imagined laying kisses all over Olivier's face before trailing his lips down his throat, across his clavicle and down his chest, trying to show his adoration for the soldier through physical touch. The priest was inept at expressing himself verbally but he hoped that Olivier would understand his meaning through actions rather than words.

The priest's body was so bony and weak from illness, wouldn't Olivier find him repulsive once he was shed of his 'black sheath?' The priest hated his body and grew to despise it even more ever since his stomach troubles began. Olivier certainly couldn't be that shallow. After all, he was the only person who managed to look past the cleric's peculiarities and see him as a normal man just like any other one would pass on the street. 

Olivier had touched him so gently and with such tender affection, surely he would be just as tender of a lover even with the priest's self perceived ugliness. The priest had never been with another person before and his education concerning sex was woefully lacking so he could only vaguely imagine how two men would make love but he was certain they would learn together. It was likely that Olivier knew more than the priest did anyway, soldiers aren't known for being chaste. He longed to pleasure the handsome soldier and be pleasured by him in return either way.

Most of all, the priest simply daydreamed about Olivier sitting with him in his home and speaking of whatever came to mind. Simply being with Olivier would be more than enough. Going out for rides or walks out into the countryside where the sun would catch Olivier's golden hair and the pale blue of his eyes was an image that calmed the young priest more than it should have.

The priest turned and laid on his side before pulling the blankets up to his shoulders. His thoughts of Olivier were bittersweet, they brought him some measure of bliss but this was always quickly followed with guilt and shame. It was bad enough to lust after a woman but his thoughts were muddled with sinful images of Olivier. It was not love, the priest tried to reason with himself, what he felt was disorderly and against the natural order of things and therefore could never actually be love in its purest form.

It was not only his affection for Olivier that troubled him: the priest had finally cracked and gone to see a doctor a few days before his visit with Louis. The doctor, Laville, was an arrogant braggart and visiting him made the priest regret his appointment but at least he got an answer for his poor health. 

He had a tumour in his stomach that was inoperable.

Laville had mentioned that he knew his parish well since a friend of his lived in Mezargues and the priest was immediately reminded of Olivier and their ride together. He missed Olivier sorely and this coupled with the horrific news that he would die soon proved to be too much for the priest and he wept. He had actually cried in front of Dr. Laville much like he had broken down in front of Olivier. The doctor told him to return to his office the following week so that they could go to the hospital together but the priest saw little use in it.

He would die in a few months time. That fact twisted the priest's stomach into knots and filled his eyes with tears. He would have to tell Olivier the awful news. He hadn't bothered to mention his poor health the last time he saw soldier.

" _I would like to see you again, Father._ " Olivier had said to him coquettishly once they had reached Mezargues.

The priest assured the man that he too would like to see Olivier again. Olivier couldn't kiss him on the mouth in public no matter how much they wanted to so the soldier opted for kissing the priest on both cheeks. The priest had stood and watched Olivier's figure ride off into the distance before turning and heading down the main street of Mezargues.

Despite his thoughts, the priest had been too frightened to go see Olivier. The soldier had sent him a missive telling him that he was back in town temporarily but would be headed for Morcocco in three days. The soldier had returned home sooner than expected and the priest really should go visit him or at least invite him over to the presbytery but he had been stalling. He had truly thought he might be dead before Olivier returned since he had no idea when the soldier would come home but now the blond-haired beauty was back in his parish.

Who was he to judge Louis for being sentimental when he was considering running into the arms of another man? The priest knew he was weak and a sniveling coward, not to mention prideful. He didn't want to see Olivier for fear of giving into temptation nor did he want to see Olivier for fear of telling him about his stomach cancer. Even so, he so desperately wanted to see Olivier again, to hear his magnetic voice and mesmerizing blue eyes again.

Instead of going to Olivier's house, the priest had come to M. Louise and Mlle. Louis instead. Why? He went out of courtesy and obligation to Louis though a part of him didn't want to. He knew that he should go see Olivier and tell him about his diagnosis but hated the idea of telling him. He didn't want to see a trace of sorrow in Olivier's face nor did he want to burden him with such awful news right before he left France. The priest knew he should tell Olivier but what if their emotions get the better of them and they lay together? He could just send a note to Olivier but that felt too cold and impersonal.

The idea of returning to Ambricourt with knowledge of his tumour and his eventual demise revolted him. Where was he to go then? Remain with Louis or go to Olivier? The priest was beginning to regret staying overnight at Louis' home; perhaps Louis still felt the fond camaraderie that seminarians forge with one another but the priest believed that they had both changed too much. Their old friendship could never be the way it once was. As for Olivier, the young cleric didn't want to dwell too long on the feelings that the soldier gave him. The word 'love' came to mind and the priest immediately dismissed it. What he was feeling wasn't love but a warped, distorted version of that sweet emotion that God had so generously gifted Mankind with. It had to be. The other possibility was far too frightening to consider.

There was no way he loved Olivier in _that_ way. He was simply desperate for a close friend, someone who understood him. That was all.

With his mind in a whirlwind, the priest sat up. He checked his watch on the bedside table. It was midnight. The cleric reached into his bags and brought out that damnable journal that he insisted on writing in along with his pen and ink and hunched by the dim light of a lamp to write. He worried that M. Louis or Mlle. Louise would somehow be alerted to his midnight scribblings and check on him, thinking that he got up because he was sick again. But the flat was completely silent save for the priest's breathing and the sound of his pen scratching across the pages of his dairy.

Earlier when the priest had vomited, he had lost his reasoning and fell into a fit of panic. In his addled mind, he thought he was dying and made a scene while his unfortunate hosts carried him to bed.

"I won't die here!" He cried out. "Drag me down, drag me where you like, I don't care!"

He grimaced at the remembrance of his brutish conduct. Poor Louis and Louise! He behaved so rudely. Perhaps his being ill made forgiveness of such transgressions easy but he still loathed himself for losing his bearings. He behaved like a child.

With his dairy keeping done for the day, the priest closed the book and tucked it back into his bags and put out the lamp. He crawled back under the covers and burrowed under them, wanting to disappear entirely. If only the Lord his God would strike him down at that very instant.

Then, almost like a divine revelation, the priest abruptly had his mind set.

He would go see Olivier.


End file.
